Honorable
Sons: 2
by Josie_h
Notes
“I will call them *after* you’ve eaten a little more. C’mon Sire, a few more minutes without funding is not going to do anything, but you falling out of bed again ‘cause you’re too bloody dizzy with hunger to work out which way is up… just… c’mon Sire… Please!” Spike eased himself gently onto the bed beside his maker, taking care not to bump the frail limbs, and held out his arm.
Angel relented, reached over and lovingly stroked the defined cheekbones of his Childe, “For you, Spike… my beautiful boy… I’ll drink for you.” Angel put the wrist to his mouth again, dropped his fangs and drank the rich fluid.
As the blood was drawn Spike’s arousal grew. He ached to be able to finish the activity with a mutually satisfying, ‘shag’, and knew that Angel was feeling the same. But it could not be. Instead he saw to his Sire’s needs as soon as the wrist was released. He caressed the semi hardness through the bedcovers until the older vampire was fully erect, then lifted off the bed, gingerly pulled the covers down and put his mouth over the firm member.
There could no longer be obvious participation from his lover, no position changes or gyrating hips but he worked the stiffness with an expert mouth until rewarded with a groan and a cool stream of dead seed. He brought himself off by his own hand whilst still licking his Sire’s softening shaft. With his own completion, he kissed the tip, followed by the concave belly, the sternum on a too obvious ribcage, and finally pressed his lips to the older vampire’s mouth, slipping a tongue in to let him taste the combination of Sire and Childe.
He watched as a single tear tracked from closed eyes to the hairline just above the ear level, and made out the whispered, “Oh god Spike… my favorite Childe…. My lovely boy… thank you…. thank you.”
He kissed Angel on the forehead and gently stroked the long hair until the dark vampire fell asleep once more.
Angel woke a few hours later to the feel of early evening and the sound of his Childe reentering the room.
Spike deposited an armful of clean, dryer warmed clothes on an armchair near the door.
“Evenin’ sleepy.”
Still waking, Angel momentarily forgot his state of health and tried to sit up, immediately flopping back onto the pillows with a quiet groan.
The younger vampire was beside him in a moment, “C’mon Sire. Let’s sit you up a bit and get those pins moving shall we.”
“Did you eat, Spike?”
“Bovine. Straight from the vein too, all good and no lasting damage done, Sire.”
Spike did as he had done every day for the past eight months. He gently rolled his Sire onto his front, took a bottle of warming cinnamon oil from the side table and poured a small amount into his palm. He then proceeded to massage the inert legs, the aching joints, and the damaged back. He noted that the bed sores had healed – courtesy of a soft bed and decent feeding and was thankful for that small mercy.
Having completed his task, Spike turned the older vampire again, noting that silent tears had started again.
“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, but you know it’s better if we get in a massage…. C’mon Sire, c’mon! Look I’ll run a bath and we can have a bit of a float yeah? C’mon…” He wiped away the salty drips tracking down the cheeks.
Angel flung a weak arm over his face, “Why don’t you just stake me Spike? Just stake me and finish it.”
Spike flew off the bed turning angrily as he reached the bathroom door.
“No! You don’t get to do that!!... You don’t give up!!... You are *not* bloody leaving me alone again!... You will not bloody well quit!!” His eyes flashed yellow as he stormed into the bathroom to start the water, brooking no further argument.
Hot water running, Spike wandered to the basin and leaned heavily, stared at the blank mirror and let his own upset drop large tears onto the waiting porcelain. “F@#Kin’ Hell!” He stood for several minutes while the bath filled, then wiped his face with the back of his hand and headed back to the bedroom.
Smiling as best he could to cover his own distress, he stripped off the oversized shirt he had been wearing whilst washing the rest of their clothes and lifted his Sire to the bath. Spooning him from behind, he settled the taller man between his own legs, took a small bottle of shampoo and began to wash the dark hair.
As soon as the suds were rinsed, Angel’s head fell back on the slim shoulder of his companion, “I love you Spike. You know that don’t you…” Spike continued his ministrations by sliding a soapy face wash cloth over the too thin torso, “Hmmm… really love you” Angel’s eyes closed again but this time he turned, placed his lips against Spike’s neck and gently nipped and licked over the sensitive claim mark he had made a century and a half earlier.
With his Sire dry, tucked up in the comfort of the luxurious bed and replete from yet another feeding, it was time for Spike to call the banks in Europe and access their long neglected funds.
“Caisse d'épargne de Bassecourt? Ici William Aurelius. Je souhaite m'entretenir avec votre gérant des comptes classiques et des placements à long terme.” (This is William Aurelius, I wish to speak to your classic account, long term investment manager)
After several seconds a baritone voice came on the line, “Ici Jacques Du Puis.”
“William Aurelius. Je vous appelle au nom de mon *Sire*" Nous souhaitons transférer quatre millions de Francs Suisse dans le compte de Liam Aurelius. Le numéro de Sécurité?”(William Aurelius, I’m calling on behalf of my Sire. We wish to transfer four million Swiss francs to the credit account for Liam Aurelius. Security number?)
“S'il vous plaît, Monsieur Aurelius, c'est obligatoire.”
(If you please Mr Aurelius, that is a requirement)
Spike recited the fifteen digit code without hesitation, the eight digit check number, then answered two further security questions. After a short pause he was assured the money had been transferred, thanked the banker, and bid his farewell.
“It’s done, Sire. ‘S only three and a half but should tide us over for a good while.”
Angel closed his eyes and sighed an unnecessary breath of relief.
Spike made four further calls. Two to San Fransisco realtors catering for ‘special needs clients’, one to the Watcher’s council in Surrey England and a final one to British Airways.
By one in the morning, they had taken a large, furnished apartment near the water in the Berkley area; and he had pre-booked flights from Heathrow to S.F. for a certain Willow Rosenberg.
He wrapped his Sire carefully once more, carried him to the van and settled him for what he hoped was to be their last trip for some time.
Reentering the hotel, he paid for the room along with the substantial telephone bill with a long unused platinum credit card, silently tossed a generous cash tip across the counter (to the great surprise of his erstwhile night manager) and stalked out.
As they pulled onto the highway, Spike allowed himself to feel the slightest glimmer of hope for the future.